


Change is for the Best

by basiltonjeans



Series: Window of Opportunity [3]
Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mild Smut, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basiltonjeans/pseuds/basiltonjeans
Summary: Baz has spent his whole life trying to supress his feelings for Simon Snow.How is he supposed to say goodbye when he finally has what he wants?or; Baz's POV on every year leading up to the summer where he leaves for Paris.
Relationships: Dev & Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Window of Opportunity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629847
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	Change is for the Best

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this series is coming to an end. There is one more part to come after this, which I have already started writing. And it isn't very long so I'm REALLY hoping it's going to take less than a week to publish. 
> 
> This will seem like a very odd story if you read this part before reading the first two. I would definitely recommend reading those first to really understand what's going on with these problematic boys. 
> 
> I like this series a lot but I'm excited to finish it because I have so many other ideas I want to try. 
> 
> So I will say before you read this, Baz is SUPER dramatic. I kind of loved writing him like that, especially when he was younger because didn't we all have those crushes when we were ten years old where we just thought it was the biggest thing in the world? 
> 
> There’s not any major warnings in this but there are mentions of homophobia or really just a lack of understanding in case that makes you uncomfortable. 
> 
> Oh also! This series is the first time I've written anything remotely saucy. So I'm sorry if it sucks but I tried my best. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Sorry if you hate it. Stay safe everyone x

**Baz / Year 4 / Primary School**

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, darling?” 

I’m walking home from school with my mum and she’s holding my hand, smiling down at me. Her dark hair – the exact same colour as mine – is pushed back and clipped into a messy bun. I like the way the loose strands of hair frame her face; I’ve always hoped my hair would reach the same length. 

She squeezes my hand and I look up at her, the sun in my eyes, “Maybe.” 

She hums, “Are you still friends with the new boy at your school? Simon, was it?” 

I instinctively smile, thinking of my new friend with the big blue eyes and freckled face. “Yeah,” I tell her. “We’re still friends.” 

“What is it then darling?” 

I wrinkle my nose, “I think I have a crush on somebody.” 

Mum gasps, which is exactly the reaction I expected, “Basil, you’ve never had a crush on anybody before.” 

I nod, agreeing with her. 

“Will you tell me about them?” 

His face appears in my mind; his blinking blue eyes and goofy smile and the way he looks when he talks about sour cherry scones. 

“They make me laugh,” I say simply. 

She looks impressed. “That’s amazing, honey.” 

“Um, I like being with them.” 

“Do you think they feel the same?” 

I think the question over, reflecting on the past few weeks in my mind. “I’m not sure,” I say uncertainly. 

“Well, you know you can chat to me about it any time.” 

I nod and she leans down, planting a kiss on the top of my head.   


  
**Baz / Year 5 / Home**

My mum has friends over from work one Sunday afternoon. There’s three of them, and one has a son similar to my age. I ask if Snow can come over to hang out with me, but mum wants me to make the boy feel welcome. She thinks if Snow were here, we’d just sneak off together. 

She’s probably right. 

The four women spend time in the dining room eating cake. Mum asks me to show her friend’s son to the living room. 

He trails after me. His two front teeth are missing, which was one of the first things he told me. 

“Baz is such a weird name,” he says to me when we get into the living room. His name is Stephen, which is much less interesting. 

“Okay,” I say in a bored voice. 

“Can we watch telly?” He asks then, making himself comfortable on the middle sofa where my Dad usually sits. 

“Fine.” 

Is everyone other than Snow this boring?  
-

Later, Stephen asks if we can play in the garden. The ladies are sat on the patio gossiping. If I catch my Mum’s eye, she’ll send me a small, private smile or maybe stick out her tongue.   
  
Stephen is on my swing, pushing his legs with all the strength he has to go higher, higher, higher. “Look how high I am, Baz!” He shouts as I watch from the side. 

Things wouldn’t be like this if Snow were here. We’d be doing something much more interesting, like researching the scariest places in Britain or inventing a treasure hunt. We’d talk about things that mean something. 

Stephen jumps off the swing and lands next to me. He giggles, head in the grass. 

“I like your garden,” he says simply. 

“Me too,” I agree. 

“What’s your school like?” 

I pick a piece of grass out of the ground and shrug, “I like it. I like my friends.” 

Stephen seems genuinely interested, which I suppose is quite nice. “Do you have a crush on anyone?” He asks. He’s wearing a cheeky smile when I look up. I feel my cheeks start to warm. “You do!” He says, quite loudly. 

“So?” I say defensively. 

He rolls around awkwardly onto his stomach, “What’s her name?” 

If my cheeks were warm before, now they’re on fire. I touch my neck and feel the heat there. I can’t look up, too afraid Stephen will see it on my face. 

“Baz?” He says after a moment. “Does she have a name? Have you _kissed_?” 

“I –” I cut myself short. 

Watching TV recently, I’ve been particularly drawn to the romances. I’ll watch whatever’s on but my parents have particular TV shows or movies that they want to watch in the evenings. There’s romance in almost everything, even the horror movies that mum has no idea I’ve been watching. Romance, mentions of love and even _kissing_. 

The most consistent thing, in every movie or tv show and on every channel, is that the couples are always _one woman and one man_. 

A year ago, my father noticed I was taking an interest in the novels on the bookshelf in the hallway. He bought me more – “something I think you’ll like,” he had said. And again, in those stories, one woman and one man. There’s only ever romances between men and women. That’s all it ever is. That’s all I see. 

I haven’t had the chance to discuss this with my mum yet. I want to, but I can’t be sure of the best way to approach the topic. 

This boy in front of me, with a hideous green jumper and two missing front teeth, is as much convinced that it’s always one man and one woman as everybody else. That’s how it seems, anyway. 

What harm will it do to reach out to somebody? 

“He,” I say bluntly. 

Stephen starts to furrow his eyebrows, “What?” 

“He has a name.” The words flow out of me in a confusing mess, but he still hears it. 

He sits up now, crossing his legs. “He?” 

I nod. 

“You have a crush on a boy?” 

I nod again. 

Then, excruciatingly slowly, his face begins to screw up into an expression of dismay. “You can’t have a crush on a _boy_.” 

I frown, “Why?” 

“That’s not – it’s just not allowed.” 

“Who said?” 

Stephen gestures around the garden, grasping for something, anything, until he finds an answer, “ _Everyone_. It’s just how it is. Boys are meant to be with girls. Everyone knows that. My dad even said so.” 

I gulp, feeling sick to my stomach. 

So that’s the truth. That’s why, ever since I realised I wasn’t like other boys, I’ve felt a sickening knot in my stomach reminding me – _you can’t tell anyone_. 

Would my mum react the same way as Stephen? 

Would Simon? 

“I’m just joking,” I say then, my face breaking out into the fakest of smiles. Behind the mask, my eyes are welling up and there’s a lump in the back of my throat. 

Stephen is gullible and easily deceived. He barks out a laugh immediately, rolling onto his back in the grass again. 

“Her name’s Francesca,” I say. It’s a name I heard on TV recently. 

“Awesome,” Stephen grins, baring his gums. “My crush is called Ellie. She said she liked my coat last week.” 

I glance back over at the patio, where my mum is already gazing over with a loving expression on her face. I send her a wave, wiggling my fingers and she draws a love heart in the air. 

If I had known boys weren’t allowed to love other boys, if I had known it would be such a problem, if I had a choice to change it, I wouldn’t have picked this path. 

Things are much more complicated when, almost every day, I’m within arm’s reach of a boy I’m not allowed to love. 

**Baz / Year 6 / School**

It’s a hard life – being a 10 year old boy and having a crush. _Crush_ really does seem like the perfect word, since I pretty much feel like I’m being _crushed_ 90% of the time. 

I’ve promised Snow I’m going to stop being so dramatic about things (not that he knows about this particular _thing_ ). 

I suppose they could always be worse. 

Snow is walking beside me on our way to my house. He can’t walk in a straight line, so he keeps nudging into me. He’ll mutter, “Sorry,” or let out a little laugh that tugs at my heart more than I care to admit. 

“I got paired with the new girl today. Did you see?” Snow asks. He’s looking at the floor intently; if he finds a stone on the ground, he’ll kick it further along the path. 

I did see. I saw the smile Snow was trying to hold in when the names were read out. And then he walked over to her awkwardly, waving from across the classroom. He sat staring at her like she was some precious gem for the whole hour, and I sat on the other side of the classroom, wishing I could cease to exist. 

I nod to avoid saying anything that might sound at all like jealousy, or annoyance. Snow and I never argue. We have nothing to argue about, but my fondness for him often comes across in waves of sarcastic or snappy humour, and sometimes I worry that he might take it personally.

He wrinkles his nose, “Can I ask you a question, Baz?” 

I slide my hands into my pockets and his hip taps mine as he veers onto my side of the path. “Yes,” I say quickly, ignoring the silly, childish wishes appearing in my mind of what he might ask. 

He clears his throat before he asks, “Have you ever fancied a girl?” 

Suddenly, it’s as if I’m transported back to a year ago, sitting on the grass in my back garden with Stephen, a stupid boy with stupid missing teeth and his stupid words telling me I’m not allowed to have a crush on a boy. If it’s not allowed, then why do I? Why would humans be made so inherently flawed that they’re born with an attraction that’s not _allowed_? 

I glance over at Snow but he’s already looking at me, pushing his untamed bronze curls out of his eyes. “No,” I say honestly. 

“Oh,” Snow frowns. 

“Why?” 

He’s silent for a moment, as though selecting his words carefully. This is a new thing he’s started doing, since it used to be typical of him to blurt out the first thing in his mind, in any order. 

“I wanted to know what it felt like, so I could know what I’m feeling.” 

My stomach drops and I feel myself begin to pale. I look forward, refusing to catch his eye again. 

“You have a crush on Wellbelove?” I ask slowly. Each word is a challenge, but when it’s out there in front of us, I watch Snow’s cheeks turn a shade of red, and I know that I’ve caught onto something. 

He shrugs, “I think so.” 

It hurts a little more than I care to admit. 

I’m young, and I’m stupid, and I’m attached to this boy with beautiful freckles and a past that I wish I could fix. I came to terms with the fact that he isn’t going to feel the same way about me a while back. I even prepared myself for a moment like this, where Snow’s interests would be directed elsewhere, and he would start to like girls. 

But, as I said, it’s a little more painful than I expected. 

Snow still came to my house, and we hung out all day in my room, playing music and laying on my bed. We drew portraits of each other, and although Snow’s vision of me was incredibly insulting, I forgave him. Because he gave me this cute smile and then belly-flopped on top of me. 

The novels I have read outline unrequited love as some terrible tragedy, and I’d never really understood until I experienced it myself. I will be fine though. I’ll cope. I’ll get used to it, and maybe I’ll find a way to get over this crush. 

I’m worried if I don’t get over it, I’m going to have to distance myself from my best friend. 

I haven’t decided if being apart from Snow would hurt more than closely watching him love somebody else. 

**Baz / Year 7 / Secondary School**

The first thing I noticed about secondary school is that the kids are ruthless. Within the first week, we were divided into groups, clinging to friends and trying not to be socially exiled. 

That being said, I can’t be sure where I stand yet. It’s been two weeks now, and I can see Wellbelove quickly becoming the most popular girl in our year. I can see Snow speaking politely to people in class but not making any new friends. I can see how nervous he is about all of it, and I want to help. 

Then again, I can see other things too. In my mind, Snow has overstepped the border; it is hard to even look at him without being reminded of the hold he has on my heart. Although it’s a terrible thought, these are the things that make me wonder if it would be easier if we weren’t best friends. 

I’m in PE class now. I was glad to be placed in the top set, meaning I’d get to play sports against boys of similar abilities as fiercely as I want. Snow was put in the bottom set, because he hates PE, which means when I’m here on the football pitch tackling these players, I can see him on the other side of the field with the rest of his set, looking awkward and out of place. 

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his oversized shorts, but when he sees me looking over, he raises a hand in the air and wiggles his fingers. 

My hand is halfway in the air when a player on the opposite team to mine starts sprinting past me with the ball. I turn my back and slide the ball out from underneath his feet, kicking it to a teammate on the other end of the pitch. 

When I glance back at Snow, he’s got his back to me. 

In the changing rooms after the game, I’m doing up the buttons on my school shirt when I hear a voice say my name from behind me. I’m surprised to find it’s Dev, a boy from a few of my classes, who’s sitting on the other side of the changing room doing up his shoes. 

Confused, I respond, “Yeah?” 

“You played well today,” he says. His voice is a bit squeaky at the edges. “You trying out for the team?” 

I shrug carelessly, “Maybe.” 

Beside him, his Irish friend Niall says, “You should.” 

I’ve got my back to them, squashing my PE kit into my bag when I respond, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Where you sitting for lunch?” Dev asks. When I glance at him, he’s finished changing and packing his stuff away, but he’s still sat there. 

I shrug to avoid responding. The shrugging is something I’ve stolen from Snow. 

“You should sit with us,” Dev says. 

I kick my foot up onto the bench so I can tie my shoelaces, “I’m probably going to sit with my friend.” 

“The spotty one?” Niall says then. I’m so surprised that I don’t respond for a moment. Surprised that they would call him spotty. Surprised that they would say it to my face. Surprised at the anger that threatens to rise inside of me. 

“He’s not spotty. They’re moles,” I mutter, but Niall’s got a look on his face that says ‘who cares?’ 

“I didn’t expect you to be friends,” Dev says. 

“Well, we are.” 

“Okay,” Dev picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. Niall follows his actions quickly. I half-expect them to just leave without saying anything more, but Dev tells me, “You should sit with us some time. We’ll be at the back table in the canteen.” 

I don’t respond, so they leave. 

Now I know I have some decisions to make. 

**Baz / Year 8 / Secondary School**

At school on a Tuesday in year 8, I’m in English class with my group of friends. We were asked to go into groups of 4, so Dev and Niall and another friend Martin called me over to their table. 

Martin’s really focused on the work. He’s got his tongue poking out slightly as he scribbles on an A3 piece of paper. It’s perfect, really, since the rest of us don’t want to do the work. Dev’s got his feet up on another chair and Niall’s staring out of the window. 

“My parents are out on Saturday,” Dev says. 

Niall looks up, “Party?” 

“No, not party. But we can have a few people over,” Dev suggests. “Baz, what do you think?” 

“Sounds good,” I say simply. 

“I could get some alcohol –” Niall is in the middle of saying when laughter breaks out from the other side of the classroom. 

Simon Snow. I haven’t spoken to him in about a year. When we started distancing from each other, I tried to remain civil. We would still smile at each other in passing, maybe even greet one another. But then everything turned sour; my group targeted Snow and his friends, and some sort of rivalry started to come from it. 

He’s laughing now at something his friend, Bunce, has said. His head is tipped back and Penny is slapping him on the back. In front of him, Wellbelove, Snow’s dream girl, has a small grin on her face at whatever’s been said. Our teacher has left the classroom, so there’s nobody to tell them off. 

“Would you be quiet?” Niall hisses over, twisting in his chair to face them. 

Their heads immediately snap over to us. Bunce quickly retorts, “Mind your own business.” 

“I can’t when you’re in hysterics over there,” Niall says. I make the mistake of looking over at Snow, and he’s already watching me, his eyes narrowed. 

“Turn around and stop speaking to us,” Bunce snaps. 

“Or what?” Dev says, sitting up straighter in his seat. 

Bunce clenches her teeth together but doesn’t respond. Snow’s jaw flexes and he looks ready to explode. 

“Do you have to always pick fights with us?” Snow almost growls. I’m surprised enough that I sit back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest and watching everything unfold. 

“It’s funny,” Niall shrugs nonchalantly. “Look at braceface finally speaking up.” 

“That’s original,” Bunce rolls her eyes. Snow got braces a while back, but they’re hardly even visible, except for the fact that it has slightly slurred his speech. You wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him well. 

When I glance over at him, he’s got his lips pressed together tightly, as if trying to hide his teeth. 

Niall lowers his voice to a nasty whisper, “Are you hoping having straight teeth is going to get her,” he gestures to Wellbelove with raised eyebrows, “to finally notice you?” 

Wellbelove, stunned at being brought into the argument, flushes red. Snow’s cheeks are a dangerous pink colour. 

“Shut up,” Wellbelove says snappily. There’s not much fire behind it, but she’s pouting prettily. Niall and Dev have a weakness for pretty girls, and Wellbelove is the prettiest, so they turn back around as if nothing ever happened. 

Niall gets out his phone and Dev starts playing with this figurine he always keeps in his pocket. 

“You were quiet,” Dev says. He doesn’t look up so I assume he’s talking to Martin. When nobody responds, he snaps his head over to me and repeats himself. 

“Was I?” I answer in a bored tone. 

“Yes.” He looks almost like he’s trying to intimidate me. “I thought you hated them too.” When I stare blankly at him, he says, “What’s going on?” 

I sigh, “Don’t you get bored?” 

“What?” I don’t bother repeating myself, so he says, “Bored of what?” 

“Picking fights, making people miserable. It’s boring.” 

Niall puts his phone back in his pocket and leans forward, “What’s brought this up?”

My eyes slide over to Snow. He’s smiling with his mouth closed and Wellbelove is giggling beside him. I look back at my friends, who are watching me. 

“Nothing,” I say. Dev and Niall exchange bewildered glances. “You said I was quiet, and I told you why. I’m bored of it.”

They don’t respond, but I don’t need them to. I can tell by Dev’s fidgeting and the scowl on Niall’s face that I’ve hit a nerve. Now they have time to consider whether I’m right – whether the bullying is boring and whether it’s time to cut it out.

Martin turns his head slightly, his pen still to paper, and smiles at me. He looks so impressed that he’s not even annoyed when he finds the ink has spilled out of his pen and smudged all over his work. 

**Baz / Year 9 / Secondary School**

I’m in the library at lunchtime on a Thursday. Usually I’d either be sat under one of the trees on the football field with Dev and Niall and the rest of the group or huddled at a table in the canteen. Today, I forgot to bring a book from home for History class, so I’m scouring the library walls.

Somebody taps my shoulder as I’m reaching to the top shelf. With my hand still raised, I turn my head slightly and find Wellbelove smiling up at me. She’s got her blonde hair styled into little ringlets and there’s a white bow above her right ear. 

“Hey, Baz,” she says when I take too long to say anything myself. I lower my hand and turn towards her with a tight-lipped smile. 

“Wellbelove,” is all I respond. 

“I didn’t think you came to the library,” she says conversationally. 

“I don’t. I need a book for History.” 

She rocks back onto her heels, “Can I help you look for it?” 

“Sure,” I say. She holds eye contact with me until I turn away, going back to the shelf of books. 

She doesn’t really help, but she watches as I look for the book and occasionally takes something off the shelf to show me. 

I shouldn’t really be talking to her. Last week she caught me on the way to my first class for the day and stopped to talk. We chatted about nonsense and at one point in the conversation, she put her dainty hand on my forearm. I didn’t move it, so it stayed there until the end of the conversation. 

I caught sight of Snow and Bunce behind Wellbelove’s head. They were talking to each other but gesturing at us. Snow’s fury could be felt from across the driveway. 

This had to be why, in English class, Snow’s anger grew and grew until finally, he asked what was going on with Agatha. Our conversation quickly turned into a fight and we marched over to the Headmaster’s office. Although he was pissed off, and clearly ready to rip off my head, I think he realised his relationship with Wellbelove wasn’t right anymore. 

Still, being with her now is a bad idea. My friends love seeing us together, because to them it means I’m one step further to stealing the prettiest girl in school away from Simon Snow. But I’m not interested. I’m even less interested in aggravating Snow into a fight. 

Although it can be amusing. When he tenses his jaw and turns a delightful pinkish colour, looking ready to fight a dragon, there’s something there that I can’t seem to take my eyes off. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask Wellbelove when I’ve made my mind up about a book. She seems surprised by the question from the little flicker in her eyebrows. 

I wonder if she’ll mistake my question for jealousy. 

“Canteen,” she responds. “Are you dating anybody at the moment, Baz?” 

I keep my facial expression still. “No.” 

She blinks, “You aren’t interested in anyone?” 

“Nobody interests me,” I lie. I’m interested in somebody who is so off limits that it’s almost funny. 

“I know a lot of girls who fancy you,” she says pointedly. 

A crazy and impulsive thought rattles through my head. The sudden idea to tell Wellbelove something that’s been eating me up inside. _I’m gay_. Two words. That’s all I have to say and I won’t be alone anymore. Somebody will know the truth. 

My family doesn’t know. I’d sooner move to another country than tell my father and Mordelia is too young to have that conversation with. Sometimes I think my mum might know. She’s good at steering the conversation at the dinner table if ever my father asks if I’m seeing a girl. I also haven’t failed to miss the books she’s been buying and putting up on the bookshelves; lgbt+ fiction books with representation from all angles. And non-fiction books outlining the history of discrimination and a fight for equality. 

Although I’ve never said the words, my shoulders feel a little lighter knowing my mum’s support is right there, waiting for me. 

It takes me a few seconds to let out a steady breath and find my feet again. Today is not the day I tell somebody.

“Awesome,” I respond instead, my tone flat. “I’m not really interested in relationships.” 

I hope she’ll drop the subject, but she doesn’t. 

“That’s okay,” she says. She’s got a small smile across her lips. 

Despite my lack of attraction to Wellbelove, we have spoken pretty consistently recently, and she is nice to speak to. In another world, I think we could be close friends. In another world, she would be the first person I come out to; she would hug me and tell me she’s proud of me and try to set me up with guys she knows. 

In this world, Wellbelove says, “Sometimes I think I’m not right for a relationship.” 

I find myself asking, “What do you mean?” 

Her smile disappears and in a low voice, she tells me, “It’s really hard trying to be everything people want you to be. When I’m with Simon, I feel as if I’m just trying to be what he needs.” She pauses for a moment before adding, “It’s not his fault or anything. He’s . . . brilliant. But I don’t think either of us are happy. I’m pretending to be something I’m not and he’s pretending I’m perfect for him.” 

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” is all I can think to say. 

“It only occurred to me recently,” she says. “Am I terrible for saying this?” 

I turn the book around in my hand just for something to do. Snow is on my mind most of the day and my jealousy at his affections for Agatha has existed since year 6. I never really took the time to consider what Wellbelove thought.

She says she finds it difficult to be with Snow, which I can’t even begin to imagine. I imagine being with him would be . . . everything. And more. 

And yet, the sadness in her voice when she mentions ‘pretending’ reaches out to me more than she realises. I know what pretending feels like – how tiring, how miserable, how bitter it can be. 

“No,” I answer. “You need to do whatever you can to stop the pretending, so you can be yourself again.” 

It almost makes me cringe saying it, but it’s the truth. Wellbelove blinks up at me, taking in my advice, and then nods. 

“I’m going to go and get my lunch,” she says after a moment. She puts on her rucksack and clings to the straps. On her way to the door, she turns back around to say, “Thank you, Baz.” 

I smile slightly, although I don’t believe I deserve her thanks. 

**Baz / Year 10 / Secondary School**

“Baz!” One of my teammates calls from the other end of the football pitch. My head snaps to my left, where a player from the other team is bolting towards me. I run forward, keeping the ball secured at my feet, and kick it with the toe of my foot, so it flies over the opposition and towards my teammate. 

I charge across the pitch and shout for the ball when I’m in front of the goal. It shoots over to me so high that I forget about trying to catch it with my feet. Instead, I jump as high as I can, using my head to push it into the corner of the goal. 

A series of cheers choruses over the pitch and I take a jog back to my end of the pitch. A few of my teammates jump at me in celebration and I laugh. 

Dev says, “That was awesome,” into my ear before retreating to defence. 

The game resets and the other team, wearing their disgusting yellow bibs to differentiate from us, start off with the ball. I watch the two players in the centre and can’t help my eyes shifting to the boy with messy bronze curls stood awkwardly in defence. 

One of my teammates secures the ball and pushes it to their side of the pitch. I take off, running towards defence and waiting. Snow eyes me curiously but doesn’t say anything. 

“Mark him!” Somebody shouts at Snow, and he frowns, shuffling towards me. 

He stands in front of me in an attempt to mark and I scoff, “Great job, Snow,” running around him. He tries again, this time holding his ground when I try to get around him.   
  
“How did you manage to get into top set PE?” I ask him.   
  
He scowls and shrugs, then says, “Do you have to be such an arse?”   
  
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” I say, feeling a smile come along that I push away.   
  
“I don’t know how I got to top set PE. I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me to.”   
  
He doesn’t carry on, so I say, “Yes, I do always have to be an arse.”  
  
He huffs. One of my teammates is carrying the ball up the pitch but Snow hasn’t noticed, too busy glaring at me.   
  
“Hey, Snow,” I say. He’s already looking at me so he just waits for me to speak. “What does the floor feel like?”   
  
He opens his mouth, “What –”  
  
Before he can respond, I put my foot out in front of him and, in a desperate attempt to mark me, he trips over it and tumbles onto the ground with a thump. I watch as the football flies towards me and then, as I’m stepping forward, a grip on the back of my legs pulls me to the floor.   
  
I land on top of Snow’s stomach and he wheezes, pushing me off him. I go to stand and he grabs my arm, shoving me back down. He tries to stand next, but I push him back and sit on top of him, his arms in my iron tight grip.   
  
“Get off me,” he groans, his voice strained. My hair has fallen out of its bun and is close to touching Snow’s face as I gaze down at him.   
  
He bucks his hips and I fall beside him, letting him go. He clambers on top of me and I roll him onto his back again. I reach for his wrists but he’s too quick, and he ends up punching me in the jaw. I sit back on my feet and touch my mouth. There’s blood on my fingers when I pull my hand back to look.   
  
Snow scrambles up and moves closer to me. His mouth is open, his eyes on my bottom lip, as if he can’t believe what he’s done. He got his braces taken off last year and, with his mouth forming an ‘o’, I can almost see how perfectly straight his teeth are.  
  
His face is slowly getting closer and I furrow my eyebrows, watching as his eyes soften. His hand lifts, as if he’s going to touch my face.   
  
I clench my fist and aim for his right cheek. He grunts at the impact and moves his hands to cradle his face. I seize my opportunity, taking hold of his wrists and pinning them to the ground.   
  
“You hit me,” I say to him, tasting the blood on my lip. His hair is a mess against the grass. His eyes are trained on my mouth, at the damage he’s done.   
  
“You hit me back,” he says. I sneer and let go of him, pushing myself away.   
  
Glancing around us, I’m shocked to see the audience that I’d completely forgotten about.   
  
“Snow! Pitch! Headmaster’s office now,” our PE teacher shouts over from the other side of the pitch.   
  
I grumble under my breath as I stand up and Snow is glaring at me.   
  
Martin, stood in the goal, mutters, “That was a bit homoerotic.” I shoot him a look but he just shrugs.   
  
The headmaster seems completely worn out and incredibly annoyed to be seeing Snow and me again. He sits there in his seat for a while just staring into space. Snow kicks me under the table and when he tries to do it again, I put all my weight into standing on his foot. He yelps, and tries to play it off as a cough.   
  
We both get a week’s detention. And our parents are called.   
  
Let’s just say my mum wasn’t very happy when I got home that afternoon. 

**Baz / Year 11 / Prom**

I decide to go to prom because it’s my last opportunity to say goodbye to the five years I’ve spent in secondary school. 

  
Not that they’ve been particularly great or anything. I made some awful decisions. I chose to be friends with a group of annoying boys to avoid my pathetic crush. Last year, my mum died. It was . . . the worst day of my life. Then the worst week. Then the worst month. The worst year, I’d say.   
  
Still, I’m at prom, dressed in a green suit. I arrived in a limo with my group of friends and we walked up the drive for the last time, having our pictures taken.  
  
It’s only when we’re inside our school hall, surrounded by the people we’ve spent the last five years with, eating homemade cupcakes and drinking lemonade in plastic cups, that I realise how much I want to go home.   
  
“What would you say to dancing, Baz?” Martin asks me. I glance at him in his oversized suit.   
  
“I’d say I’m good here.”   
  
“Shame,” Martin says. “Are you going to be okay?”   
  
I nod and watch as he shimmies onto the dancefloor. At least that’s pretty amusing.   
  
Dev and Niall are with their dates in the middle of the dancefloor. Niall is already sweating from flailing his arms around and jumping up and down. Dev’s dancing is a bit more composed, but it’s still bad.   
  
I’m sipping a cup of lemonade, watching Martin dance shamelessly dance alone. After a minute, he’s managed to build up a dance circle around him.   
  
My gaze slides cross the room and meets a pair of blue eyes staring back at me. My jaw tightens at the sight of him. His expression doesn’t change, but his shoulders tense up. His suit matches the blue of his eyes; his curls are unruly on top but shaved shorter around the sides. He’s unfairly handsome, in every sense.   
  
Looking at him now, I’m reminded of the year I’ve had. The day after my mum died, Snow met me on my doorstep and walked me back to his house. He is the only person I’ve allowed to see my so vulnerable. I remember the tears sliding down my cheeks in the darkness of his room, his fingers laced through mine and settled on my chest. And I kissed him, in the quiet, where I could just about make out the shape of his lips.   
  
Then, earlier this year, I ended up at Trixie’s party. Wellbelove, who I suppose I have a pleasant friendship with now, kept trying to spend time with me at the party. She doesn’t know I’m gay, but I think a lot about telling her. At this party, I was concerned she was using it as an excuse to get closer to me.   
  
So, I tried to avoid her.   
  
Avoiding her led me to the back garden and the back garden led me to Snow. In a panicked state, I dragged him behind Trixie’s shed. I became so frustrated by his questions that I kissed him. And he kissed me back.   
  
Nothing ever came of it. Bunce’s phone call interrupted us and Snow went to find her. And at school, both of us pretended the whole ordeal had never happened.   
  
It’s hard to look at him now. He’s got his mouth hanging open, his eyes fixed on me.   
  
He rolls his shoulders back and I’m almost convinced he’s about to head over to me. Only, Wellbelove wanders into his line of sight and his eyes snap to her. 

I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d come over to me. Twice now I’ve given in to my weakness and kissed him. I don’t know if I can survive a third. 

I turn on my heel and head outside to roll a cigarette. At the door, I glance back just to watch as Wellbelove leads Snow onto the dancefloor and wraps her arms around his neck. 

**Baz / Year 12 / Pride**

My new friend Daniel goes to the school on the other side of town. I met him a few months ago at a party where Martin introduced us. I shook his hand roughly and for the rest of the night, I kept catching him looking in my direction. 

I remember how he’d been stood with some friends on the other side of the room, watching me. As he went to take a sip of his drink, his hooded eyes found mine and he nodded in the direction of the garden. I barely remember the conversation we’d had out there on the quiet porch. Something about our different schools. Something about the subjects we took. Daniel’s eyes lingered on my lips for a few moments too long.   
  
I let him kiss me. It was . . . nice. It was different. It confirmed the lingering sexuality question (which had, technically, already been confirmed by Simon Snow’s very existence).   
  
When Daniel kissed me, it was comforting and relieving to have somebody who understood me. Somebody who wanted to kiss boys too.   
  
When Snow kissed me behind the shed in Trixie’s back garden, I felt as though I would fall apart when he eventually stopped kissing me. It was passion, desire, eagerness. But more than that, too; it was the years and years I’d spent trying to avoid my feelings for him poured into one kiss.   
  
There was no point comparing. 

I didn’t stop seeing Daniel after that night. We met up and became good friends. Rarely did we talk about the kissing, about what it meant, about what we wanted. We just did it.   
  
Last month, we went out with my other friends to the Milkshake Shack. I’m aware Snow works there and every time I go, I think it’ll be fine. I think I’ll easily be able to keep my eyes off him and pretend he’s not there. Every time, I am wrong.   
  
Martin went up to order. I noticed Bunce sat at the counter like a guard dog.   
  
Daniel waited until I glanced at him to flick his eyebrows up and nod in the direction of the boy’s toilets. I sighed heavily and he just rolled his eyes, excusing himself first.   
  
“Actually, I need the toilet too,” I’d said once he was out of his seat. The guys didn’t even bat an eyelid.   
  
Daniel grabbed me as soon as I wandered into the bathroom. I couldn’t get Snow’s face out of my head, as much as I tried to distract myself. I pushed Daniel against the sinks.   
  
The door slammed open and that boy – that face – stood there, eyes wide, staring at the two boys kissing in the bathroom.   
  
As far as I know, Snow hasn’t mentioned what he saw that day. I don’t think he would. I don’t think he’s the guy who outs other people.   
  
Then again, I don’t really know him anymore.   
  
Last week, Daniel took me to meet some of his friends. We’re not dating. Not really. But we do a lot of things that people who are dating would do.   
  
One of his friends turned out to be Trixie. She was surprised as I was when I walked into the café beside Daniel. She leaned across the booth, “I didn’t know you were friends with Daniel.”   
  
“I didn’t know you were,” I said.   
  
She glanced at Daniel, who was immersed in conversation with one of his other friends. “Are you two . . .”   
  
She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. I shook my head.   
  
“So, are you . . .” She tried again.   
  
I narrowed my eyes, “Are you?”   
  
She pursed her lips, “Yes, actually. Are you?”   
  
My expression didn’t move. I’d heard rumours at school that Trixie was seeing a girl now, but it didn’t bother me. “Yes,” I said. My first time telling somebody. She barely even reacted, just flicked her eyebrows up slightly.   
  
“Awesome,” she had said.   
  
She took my number and started to text me regularly. At first, it was annoying. Then I began to see why people liked her so much. She asked me to go to the pride festival with her and her friends. I found myself genuinely wanting to go.   
  
I’m glad I did. Her friends didn’t ask me any stupid questions. They made me feel comfortable. I let Trixie’s girlfriend paint a small rainbow flag under my left eye. When she held up a mirror to my face, I smiled at my reflection.   
  
There’s nothing quite like it. We marched through the city centre. Trixie had one arm in the air, a flag wrapped around her shoulders and her other hand linked with her girlfriend’s. There was a warmth in me that I’d never felt before.   
  
Trixie drove me home afterwards, letting me sit in the front seat next to her. “Did you like it?” She’d asked.   
  
I simply nodded, unsure whether I trusted myself to describe quite how I felt.   
  
For the briefest moment, I let the memory of being told by a stupid boy that I’m ‘not allowed’ to be attracted to guys pass through my head. I pushed it down, refusing to ruin the moment.   
  
“I thought you would,” Trixie grinned.   
  
“I think I’m going to come out,” I found myself saying. The thought has haunted me for years of my life but at that moment, in Trixie’s car, I didn’t feel afraid anymore.   
  
“That’s amazing, Baz.”   
  
“I’m not going to do anything big. I’m just going to tell a few people and let it spread.”   
  
I was caught off guard when Trixie leant across the car and hugged me. Her girlfriend, silent in the back seat, squeezed my shoulder comfortingly.   
  
When Trixie sat back on her side of the car, I said, “I uh – should probably take this rainbow make-up off my face. Don’t want to scare the shit out of my dad quite yet.”   
  
Trixie wiped it off carefully and watched as I hopped out of the car.   
  
Now, it’s Monday morning. And somehow, I’m still feeling brave.   
  
Today is the day everyone finds out. 

**Baz / Year 13 / School**

“What do you want to talk about today, Baz?” 

Everything. And more. 

“I don’t know,” I respond instead.   
  
“Well, this hour is yours. We can talk about anything.” Miss Berry, the school’s new counsellor, is surprisingly nice. When the head of sixth form suggested I speak to a counsellor, I was pissed off. I didn’t think I’d need to speak to anyone about my problems. However, in the weeks I’ve come to know her, she’s not that bad.   
  
“You know I came out last year,” I say. She nods. “I told you I didn’t regret it, and I stand by that. I was surprised by the reactions I got.”   
  
“Surprised?”   
  
“Yeah.” I think back to my friend’s faces when I said the words. “My friends didn’t care. They were surprised. Well,” I think about Martin’s smug smile, “some of them were surprised. But they were cool about it. Niall asked some annoying questions, but he stopped after a while.”   
  
“They’re a nice group of friends?”   
  
“Yeah,” I say. _Depends who you ask._   
  
“Have you thought any more about what we spoke about last week? The future?” I make a face at that and she lets out breathy chuckle, “I know, Baz, but people are starting to submit their university applications. I don’t want you to miss out.”   
  
I cross one leg over the other. I’m too tall to sit on such a small chair.   
  
“I want to do something different,” I say. “I’ve looked online at the universities, but I’m not interested.”  
  
“Where do you see yourself in ten years, Baz?”   
  
“Not here,” I admit. “Abroad, probably. In another country. Fluent in the language. Maybe I’ll be a university professor with one of those huge chalkboards.”   
  
She smiles, “You want to live abroad?” I nod and she reaches over her desk to grab a folder. She says, “What country?”   
  
I hum, “The Netherlands, maybe. Or France. Or Germany.”   
  
She fishes some leaflets out of the folder and hands them across the table. “Have you looked at the universities abroad? Seen if there’s any you might be interested in?”   
  
The thought never occurred to me. I place both feet on the ground and lean forward in my seat, eyes running over the leaflets on the desk.   
  
“Take those and have a think,” Miss Berry says. I scoop them into my hand and lay them on my lap. She opens her mouth to talk, then thinks better of it. Finally, she says, “Why not here? If you don’t mind me asking.”   
  
I’m silent for a moment. She looks like she’s about to give up getting me to tell her until I say, “I came out to my family. My dad heard every word. Now he’s pretending I never said anything, which I think is worse than him being annoyed. I want to go . . . somewhere else. I’m bored of it here.”   
  
Miss Berry nods, “Thank you for telling me.”   
  
Saying goodbye to my dad will be easy. Saying goodbye to Mordelia won’t, but she’ll understand. Saying goodbye to Dev and Niall will be easy. Saying goodbye to Simon Snow might be the biggest relief in the world. 

That, or it’ll kill me. 

**Baz / End of the Summer / Home**

I’m moving to Paris tomorrow. Tomorrow morning my alarm will go off at 9:00. I’ll get up, pack the last of my things away, and catch the bus, then catch the train to the airport.   
  
It’s that easy.   
  
Except it’s not.   
  
I haven’t seen Simon Snow since result’s day, a couple of weeks ago. We agreed once we got our results, if I found out I was going to Paris, we would stop seeing each other. I think the idea was that it would be less painful if we had to time to prepare before I actually left.   
  
It wasn’t the best idea. These past weeks have been agonising. Knowing Snow is right across town but not here, with me. After everything we’ve been through this summer.   
  
I remember the little hopeful expression Snow had when he asked if I’d spent the summer with him. It feels like years ago now, though I know it’s only been mere months. How could I say no?   
  
I’ve loved Simon Snow from the moment I met him. And every moment from then on has killed me. I never thought I’d have him, even just for these brief weeks.   
  
I’m lying on my back scrolling aimlessly through messages on my phone. Wondering if I’ll get one more. Snow never had a way with words; all his life, he would let his mouth run without thinking. He would say things exactly as they were. And yet, as messy as his words are, they never failed to make me smile.   
  
I read an old text from him now: _**thinking about u**_  
  
Me: _**what are you thinking about?**_  
  
Snow: **_that noise u make when i kiss ur neck_**  
  
It’s nine o’clock. Too early to go to bed.   
  
My father organised a ‘nice dinner’ tonight to say goodbye. It was pretty obvious his new girlfriend made him do it. Daphne kept the conversation going every time we all went silent. It was very awkward, and I was glad when it was over. A small part of me was thankful Daphne had more of a heart than my father. Why she was dating him I would never know.  
  
The doorbell rings. I don’t attempt to get it, since Mordelia seems to have mastered scaring away anyone who comes to the house.   
  
Two minutes pass and I’m flicking through a James Baldwin novel. Mordelia practically screams my name up the stairs. “Coming!” I shout back.   
  
From the top of the second staircase I can see him. Simon Snow, drenched head to toe by the rain, curls stuck messily to his forehead, shivering.   
  
He’s stood on the doorstep and, over the sound of pattering rain, he’s telling Mordelia, “Honestly, I thought it was still summer. It only started raining after I left the house. I would’ve at least worn a raincoat. I just –”  
  
He cuts off when he sees me stood on the last few stairs. I freeze, one hand on the wall and one hand on the banister. I thought I wouldn’t see him after results day. But there he is, staring at me with his wide blue eyes.   
  
_Christ. He looks like he’s surprised to see me in my own home. Idiot._  
  
“Mordelia, god, let him inside,” I say. She opens the door wider and Snow steps into the hallway and out of the way so she can slam it closed.   
  
“Um, I don’t want to ruin your hallway,” he says uncertainly.   
  
“It’s just water,” I say, still unable to move from my place on the stairs. “Mordelia, can you fetch some towels?”   
  
She lets out a heavy sigh but runs up the stairs anyway. When she passes me, I finally move into the hallway, closer to him. He takes off his shoes and puts them neatly under the radiator. When he stands up straight, he looks surprised to see I’ve moved.   
  
His eyes dart across my face, as if he’s trying to decipher something.   
  
He smiles sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I know we said after results day that would be it, but I –”  
  
“Got them!” Mordelia calls on her way down the stairs. She hands me the towels and stands there for a moment. I make a face at her, trying to get her to leave. She huffs and walks away dramatically.   
  
I wrap one of the towels around Snow’s shoulders and gesture at him to follow me upstairs. I lead him into my room and close the door behind me.   
  
“Take off your jumper,” I say. He raises his eyebrows. “I’m going to put it on the radiator to dry.”   
  
He takes a book from under his jumper and tosses it onto the bed. He still looks smug as he reaches the hem of his jumper and tries to peel it off. His t-shirt rides up with it, exposing the smooth skin on his lower stomach and I gulp. He struggles to get the jumper off so I step forward and help him.   
  
As I’m putting the jumper on the radiator, he says, “My t-shirt and trousers are wet too.”   
  
I purse my lips, “You can borrow some of mine.”   
  
I take an old pair of sweatpants and a band t-shirt out of my drawer. Two things, amongst the many, that I’m not bringing with me to Paris.   
  
I expect him to change in the bathroom. I don’t know why I would, since I’ve seen him without his clothes on before. I’ve stripped him of his shirt and trousers. The memory makes my cheeks blush. Then I glance up and see Snow’s toned chest, his muscles, his moles, and my face darkens.   
  
When he’s dressed, he wanders over the radiator and puts the rest of his clothes on there. Then he grabs the book he left on my bed and shows it to me. It’s his copy of 1984. The one I bought for him this summer.   
  
“I finished it,” he says proudly. “I liked it.”   
  
I don’t know what to say. He’s wearing my clothes and holding the book I bought for him and he’s got this smile on his face. I’m not sure if I’m going to survive this moment.   
  
“It’s a bit damp,” he says, touching the book delicately, “But I wanted you to have it now.”   
  
“I’ve read it,” I tell him.   
  
“I know,” he shrugs. “I just wanted you to have it. You can keep it in your room here.”   
  
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.   
  
I’m holding onto the footboard at the end of my bed with one hand. Snow stands at a distance, looking at my feet. He huffs, “I know we said we would stop after results day but . . . it’s not enough, Baz.”   
  
“Simon,” I breathe. He won’t look at me. I’m terrified he’s going to ask me to try long distance with him. I won’t be able to say no. But it’s a terrible idea. A really terrible one. There’s nothing worse than the idea of having him and never seeing him. It would drive us both crazy.  
  
“I just had to see you once more before you leave,” he says.   
  
“Well,” I let out a breathless sort of laugh. He looks up then, meeting my eyes. “Here I am.”   
  
The end of his lips quirks upward slightly. “Here you are.”   
  
“I’m leaving in the morning,” I tell him.   
  
He steps towards me, “That’s ages away.”  
  
“Simon . . .”  
  
“What time?”   
  
“Leaving at 10:00.”   
  
He glances at the clock hanging on the other side of the room. “Over twelve hours,” he says. “Ages.”   
  
A smile tugs at my lips, “You’re an idiot.”   
  
He hums, stepping into my space. I let my back rest against the footboard at the end of my bed. Simon stands in front of me, eyes trained on my mouth. His teeth sink into his bottom lip.   
  
He places a hand on my hip, over my sweater. I sigh, “Are you going to kiss me or what?”   
  
“Bossy,” he whispers under his breath. When I go to respond, he presses his lips to mine, and all else is forgotten.   
  
There’s very few things I love more than kissing Simon Snow. There’s something so electric in the way he holds me. Something so real and earnest in the way he moves his lips. He pushes his lips firmer against mine and moves his chin in this way that makes me feel like I’m falling apart.   
  
Sometimes when Simon kisses me, he does so the same way we used to fight. Like now, when he pushes his hips into mine, trapping me against the footboard. There’s a look in his eyes when I pull back; a mixture of fury and frustration and want. 

Often I feel as though I've spent my whole life pretending. But here, with him, like this; _this is what not pretending feels like_.   
  
I pull him back to me, my hands running through his damp hair. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip and I let out a shaky breath around his mouth. He hears it. I can tell because he tilts his head the other way and pushes his tongue into my mouth, trying to elicit another sound from me. He sees it as a challenge.   
  
I swallow the sounds I want to make. It sounds easier than it actually is, especially when Simon’s nudges my legs open with his knee and presses his thigh into the space between my legs. I groan into his mouth and he pulls away from me. He’s got this annoying smirk on his face, watching with frustrating curiosity when he moves his thigh again and I tip my head back.   
  
“You’re so . . .” I’m cut off by his warm lips pressing against my jawline and his thigh applying more pressure.   
  
“So what?” Snow whispers, mouthing at a certain spot on my neck that makes me lose my mind.   
  
“Annoying,” I say, although it doesn’t have its usual spite because I’m literally falling apart in his hands.   
  
“Hmm.” He leans back to look at me. His lips are a darker shade of red. I’m betting mine are too by the way he’s staring at them.   
  
He lets his hands drop from my hips and move to the back of my thighs. I only realise what he’s trying to do once I’m being lifted. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. His arms hold me up. His head rests in the crook of my neck, pressing his lips there.   
  
He moves us carefully around the bed. He’s stronger than he looks. My hands move to his biceps now and they’re tensing beneath my fingers. He lays me down on the bed, my back pressing against the sheets. I don’t move my legs from where they’re wrapped around him. He puts his legs on either side of my hips, straddling me, making me lean up to kiss him.   
  
I tug his bottom lip with my teeth and he breathes heavily through his mouth. His hands find the hem of my sweatshirt and he starts to pull away from my lips. I know he’s trying to get my approval so I draw him back to me by the back of his head and whisper, “Yes,” against his lips.   
  
He nods, breaking away from me to get the sweatshirt over my head. He throws it onto the floor and reaches back towards me, capturing my lips once again in a mess of teeth and tongue.   
  
My hand finds the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. I press my fingers onto his lower stomach, where I’d been ogling barely ten minutes ago. He sucks in a breath when my fingers run up his chest, feeling his smooth skin. I move my hands to his back. He presses his lower body onto mine and my fingers dig into his skin.   
  
I lift the t-shirt over his head. I catch him off guard when I roll him over onto his back and hover above him. I move my lips from his, beginning instead to move down his chest. I kiss the moles on his chest, on his abs. He lets out a sound when I reach below his belly button.   
  
I want to hear that sound on repeat.   
  
He pulls me back towards him. He kisses me like he’ll never grow tired of it. He rolls us over again, crawling over me. His hand reaches down to my belt buckle and I nod against his bruising kisses. He takes my trousers off slowly, then his own.   
  
My breaths are erratic when he kisses down my chest. His mouth lingers on my thighs and, all of a sudden, Simon Snow is doing unspeakable things to me with his perfect mouth. My hands are in his hair.   
  
Later, Simon lays next to me in my bed. The dim light from my bedside table makes orange shadows dance over his features. Heads on the pillows, facing each other. He starts to yawn, stretching his arms above his head. He uses those same arms to pull me into his chest, fingers running circles along my lower back.   
  
I can just about make out the clock from this side of the room. Eight hours to go.   
  
_We have ages._


End file.
